


Fighting This War

by just_another_classic



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Background Liam Jones, F/M, Lieutenant Killian Jones, Lieutenant Killian Jones/Princess Emma Swan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-21 21:16:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13152201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_another_classic/pseuds/just_another_classic
Summary: “If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it.” Lieutenant Duckling AU





	Fighting This War

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seastarved](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seastarved/gifts).



> Happy Hub Santa, Chinx! I'm super excited to be your SS, and I'm excited to finish this Enchanted Forest AU for you.

 Snow gently falls outside as skirts twirl inside, ladies being spun around the ballroom by their suitors, laughing and loving and forgetting the potential disasters that await them on the other side of the castle’s walls. At least, all appear to forget except one, Princess Emma of Misthaven. 

She hates the balls, hates what they symbolize when a war is being waged outside of these walls. It seems so superfluous to her, if not downright insulting to those fighting and dying to be hosting one fete after another. Her father tells her that these balls are the best way to honor the men who risk their lives in honor of the crown. Her mother says they are to distract their people from the fear of war, give them something to celebrate, a momentary reprieve.

Emma simply finds it to be a waste. 

Men are dying for this kingdom, and here they are, drinking, dining, and dancing within the safe confines of the castle. It’s all so very hypocritical. She knows the cause of the war is just – the opposing kingdom will stop at nothing to see her family’s lands razed to the ground, still so very offended for trespasses of which Emma is no longer sure. So war must be fought, and lives must be lost. The cost, otherwise, would be much too great.

(“What are a few dead soldiers compared to an entire kingdom?” One of her parents’ advisors had once so cruelly asked. His statement may have been true, but no less unaware and detached.) 

The war is taking its toll on the kingdom and its people, but if a passerby were to look at this fete, no one would know the wiser, save for the naval officers dressed in their finest uniforms. The truth is that Emma’s parents may be right. Those in attendance certainly appear happy and joyous. Besides, it also gives the men choosing to risk their lives some recognition of their own.

Emma has spent much of the evening charming these men, thanking them for their service to the crown. She walks through the crowd, entertaining some with dances, others with pleasant conversation. Her cheeks hurt from forcing a smile so much, but she thinks this is a small price to pay. They are the ones making the sacrifice, not her.

Towards the end of the evening, one of her parents’ most trusted knights, Sir Lancelot, waves her over. He is standing by two naval officers. Estimating by their decorations, one is a Captain, the other Lieutenant. They’re both handsome, tall with dark hair and blue eyes. Judging by the way the Lieutenant has been carrying himself the entire night, he certainly knows it, too. Not that Emma’s noticed him previously, not at all. 

“Princess Emma, I would like to introduce you to two of our finest officers, Captain and Lieutenant Jones,” Sir Lancelot begins. “They serve on our flagship vessel, _The Jewel of the Realm._ I have been informed by the Admiral that we would have lost a number of battles without their quick maneuvering.”

To the credit of the Captain, a hint of a blush crosses his cheeks.

“Thank you both for your service,” Emma says, nodding her head politely. Captain Jones nods and bows, ever the model of respectability, but his brother catches her eye with a devastating grin.

“The pleasure is all mine, Princess.” He reaches for her hand, bowing dramatically as he brushes his lips against her knuckles. “If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it.”

“So you believe our meeting is worth the blood of hundreds of men, Lieutenant?”

The color drains for Lieutenant Jones’ face, his jaw drops and eyes widen. Whatever response the man had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t this. Emma takes certain pleasure in her knocking the arrogant naval officer off guard. He attempts to stammer a response – “What…No, Princess…that’s not – “ 

“Because, trust me, Lieutenant, the safety of our kingdom is the only thing worth that price.”

With that, Emma turns away from the men without so much as proper goodbye. As she disappears into the crowd, she can hear Sir Lancelot’s distinctive laugh intermingled with the Captain scolding the silent Lieutenant about “bad form.” Emma doesn’t know why Lieutenant Jones’ words rankled her so, just that when he said them there was a surge of annoyance. She supposes it probably was a result of her own underlying feelings regarding the frivolity of the party.

Later she finds herself standing on a balcony, peering at her blanketed kingdom. The chill of winter provides a nice contrast to the heat of the ballroom, and the stillness of the outdoors serves as a contrast to the revelry indoors. Emma doesn’t understand how the world can appear so peaceful when it really was the opposite, fraught with war and death. 

“Does everything have to be a contradiction?” She asks aloud to herself. 

“It doesn’t have to be,” is the reply, and Emma jumps at the sound of the unexpected voice.

“It’s not proper to sneak up on a princess, you know,” Emma says, not bothering to turn around to properly greet the interloper in an attempt to gain control of the situation.

“My apologies,” he says, and Emma finally recognizes the voice as Lieutenant Jones. Emma half expects him to leave or wait for further acknowledgement, but instead he steps forward to stand by her side. It’s a daring move. “I actually came to find you to apologize for offending you earlier.” 

“For offending me? I believe what you said went far beyond offending me, Lieutenant. You sullied the sacrifice of good men, for what? To meet a princess?” Emma asked, her voice biting and sharp. She finally turns to him only to be met with blazing blue eyes and a set jaw. He looks annoyed, and that frustrates Emma even more.

“I stand by what you think I said,” he replies, his voice gruff. “But don’t for a second believe, Your Highness, that I do not care about the sacrifices of my fellow sailors. They are my brothers in arms, not yours. They only served you. I bled with them.” 

“Then why make light of the war?”

“Because with all of the death and destruction, it has to mean something, don’t you think?” Lieutenant Jones asks her. He moves closer to her, and she can feel his breath on her skin, warm against the cool night air. “If not for the war, neither my brother nor I would be able to honor our names. I never would have had the chance to travel to new lands. And this lowly lieutenant never would have had the chance to converse with his sovereign. I have to look toward the light to continue fighting the darkness.”

Emma scoffs. “It’s war. Of course it is dark. Men are dying. Villages are being destroyed.”

“But that doesn’t mean that there can’t still be good among the bad.” Lieutenant Jones’ expression is so earnest, she almost wants to believe him. It sounds like something her parents would say, and Emma doesn’t know if that makes his words more or less receptive to her ears. “I can prove it to you, if you’d like.” 

She smirks. “I’d like to see you try.”

 

-/-

 

Lieutenant Jones sticks to his word, almost going out of his way in an attempt to prove to her that light can be found in even the darkest of places. It annoys her at first, the presumption that he could challenge and change her viewpoint. It’s not that she’s close-minded, but it’s the arrogance at which he approaches the situation that gets her, so sure that he will be proven right in the end. She actually ignores his first few letters from him as a result, unwilling to encourage his audacity. He is not deterred, however, instead finding encouragement in her silence, almost as if he believes it means she knows he could win. 

It probably violates some sort of code or expectation, him writing to her and her writing back. Even as a lieutenant in the Royal Navy, he is still far below his station, and is therefore playing a dangerous game. Should Emma get too irritated with his attentions, she could very well have him decommissioned…or worse. Such is the power of the Crown Princess. The Lieutenant must be well aware of this fact, he is not an idiot, but still he persists. This is what draws Emma to him and leads her to finally read and respond to his letters – not his optimism, nor his persistence, but his fearlessness in approaching her. He treats her not as a prize to be sought, but as a mind to be challenged. It is refreshing change to the eligible men who normally approach her. Not that the Lieutenant has made any advances since the first night they met.

It does not go without notice that he writes beautifully. His letters detail his exploits, highlighting the bright moments bookended between battles. He speaks of strange ports, unfamiliar tongues, and overzealous merchants. His stories don’t convince her that he is right about the possible upsides to war, but she still finds value in his words, especially when he talks of his battles. 

He writes of those in such vivid detail that Emma can almost imagine she was there with him in the heat of the fight. His words make her feel less trapped within her castle walls, allow her to pretend she has a deeper understanding of war and what it entails. As a child, she once overheard Lancelot and many of her father’s knights commiserate over their war stories, but they pale in comparison to the narrative Lieutenant Jones weaves.

Her heart aches for him, because she can tell the pain he feels when he drafts eulogies for his fallen brothers in arms. She now knows he truly meant what he said that night at the ball, how he truly hates the death of each and every sailor. It seems silly now, and she Emma feels embarrassed by the fact, that she doubted his words back then. She doesn’t tell him so in her responses, she’s a bit too prideful for that, but she does attempt to send back comfort, hope, and support, whatever she feels can uplift his spirits. She hopes it works. Her words seem to, because he often thanks her for acknowledging her letters, a bit of humor shining through here or there.

_“I see I’m beginning to win you over, Princess.”_

She doesn’t quite understand how the introspective and caring man who writes her these letters can be the same one who so callously reduced their meeting to one of the benefits of war. As their correspondence continues, Princess Emma cannot deny one simple fact. 

She is increasingly becoming more and more thankful that they met.

 

-/-

 

Months pass, letters are traded, and balls are held.

Tonight is one such night. Just as with the night Emma first met Lieutenant Jones, snow is creeping steadily from the sky, blanketing the gardens and castle in white. Though it is the early vestiges of spring, winter is unforgiving on its hold of the kingdom. Unlike the night where she first crossed the path of Lieutenant Jones, however, she’s spent the weeks leading to this night waiting in high anticipation. 

Not that she tells him that.

Instead she smiles coyly as he spins her around the ballroom in an intricate waltz, unwilling to let on just how happy she is to her lieutenant again. Emma’s long since stopped trying to discover when he became “her lieutenant” in her head – a person isn’t one to own – but he is reserved in a special place in her heart and mind that no one’s quite occupied in the same way before. It’s equal parts thrilling and terrifying, but instead of running, she chases the feeling.

“You’ve cut your hair,” Emma comments, her fingers lightly brushing against the nape of his neck. The last she had seen of him, he wore his hair in a neat queue. Now, it is cropped short. She thinks he looks better this way. Not that she tells him that, either.

“Aye, but it wasn’t by choice. I came a bit too close the wrong end of a blade,” he responds, his wince at the memory exaggerated for her amusement. “Thankfully, a bit of a haircut doesn’t detract from my devilishly handsome good looks, so no harm done.” 

“You didn’t tell me that!”

“That I’m devilishly handsome? Princess, I was hoping you would have noticed by now.” Lieutenant Jones throws at her a wicked, teasing smile, his eyes alight with mirth. He sobers quickly at her responding glare. “Honestly, I didn’t know you wanted me to tell you everything. I can, if you so desire.”

“I do so desire, Lieutenant.”

“Killian. If I’m to reveal my darkest of stories, you should at least call me by my given name,” her Lieutenant – _Killian_ – responds. For a moment, he looks nervous, as if he knows he is overstepping his bounds, but he recovers quickly. “What would you like to know?” 

“Anything. Everything. You painted me the most wonderful pictures in your letters, _Killian_ , that I really do want to hear them all,” Emma answers, noting how blushes at her compliment and the sound of his name on her lips. “But since you apparently were not so keen on telling me of your more dangerous exploits, then I want to hear that. What else was so dangerous that you felt like you couldn’t tell me?” 

He is silent for a moment, his movements slowing as he considers her statement. Emma doesn’t care that they’ve begun to fall out of step with the music, far too intrigued by the series of emotions that are playing out across his handsome face. “You want something dangerous then? Truly dangerous? The most dangerous one of all?”

“Do as your princess commands, Killian.” 

“Okay,” he says, steeling himself. “There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t think of you.”

His statement may have not been what she expected, but Lieutenant Killian Jones is right – this is the most dangerous story of all. 

Lieutenant Jones – Killian – looks at her with such deep blue eyes. They’ve since stopped moving, standing still in a storm of spinning dancers. He’s biting his lower lip, looking completely uncertain and doubting the leap of faith he just took. It wasn’t a declaration of love, but certainly one of intention, and his intention is one not meant for someone of his station.

He is lowborn, has not even an acre of land to his name. He confessed as much in his earlier letters, conveyed his desire to make something of the Jones name that meant so little to generations prior. She is a princess. She has expectations to marry, produce heirs, carry on her family’s name and reputation in an entirely different sort of way. Any sort of match or romantic liaison between them would be wrought in scandal. Emma can already envision the fit her parents’ advisors would throw if she were to announce that she intended to court a Naval Lieutenant.

But still…she remembers that her mother married a shepherd, and that her parents raised her with the promise of True Love, even if she doesn’t really know what it means. She recalls that in the early planning stages of the ball, her mother made passing comments about the man whose letters Emma held close to her chest, a knowing look in her eyes. Maybe, just maybe, she thinks, revealing a bit of herself to her Lieutenant would not be so terrible. 

So she follows his lead, and takes a leap.

“Good.”

His answering smile is wide and brilliant, and one of the most beautiful things she has even seen. She’s starting to believe that maybe he was right the first night they met – there might be some light worth the cost of the darkness of war. 

Not that she tells him that.

 

-/-

 

She kisses him on the docks, his fellow sailors whistling and her guards glowering as their lips meet in goodbye.  She tells him that she wishes that he stay safe, and he tells her not to worry, that he will be fine.

“I’ll only be an ocean away,” he says with a wink, not at all addressing her real insecurities, the ones that invade her dreams and warp them into nightmares of him dying in the heat of battle. “I’ll be back, Emma, I swear it.” 

“Just promise me that you’ll stay safe.”

“Of course, love, I’m a survivor.”

He kisses her one final time, stronger than before, and she returns it with just as much fervor, earning more jeers from the crew and a distinct clearing of throats from her guards. And then he is gone to his ship and back to the war, with the promise of more letters, one every time they make port, and she is left waiting, always waiting for a peace that won’t come quickly enough. 

If she struggled with the war before Lieutenant Killian Jones entered her life, she has no idea how to describe her feelings now. Her sleep is plagued by nightmares of watching him die, her standing by unable to do anything to save him (And she can’t, so far away in her castle.) Blockades take new meaning, and she hangs onto every word of reports from the fronts when she sits in on council meetings. If anyone notices her renewed interests in the more tactical aspects of the war, they don’t comment on it.

They do, however, comment on other things, namely her blossoming romance with the naval lieutenant. Her parents seem happy for the most part, and encourage her along in her quest for True Love – not that she would call what she and her lieutenant have that. (Yet.) The councilors, who care not for her heart, balk at the idea, some more open than others. One night she thinks she finds hope when she hears one of her father’s more trusted men argue to “Let them be. We all know how young love is,” only for her hopes to be truly dashed when it is followed with, “Chances are, the boy will be killed and we won’t have to worry. ‘Tis the way of war.” 

Her heart seizes at that, hearing confirmation that her nightmares could become a reality. She doesn’t like being powerless like this, having her heart held by someone in a place and situation over which she has no control. It makes her feel weak, and she loathes the emotion. Her mother finds her crying in her chambers one night, unable to reconcile bother her overwhelming love and terror while simultaneously drowning in the loneliness of not having her lieutenant by her side. 

Her mother holds her, whispers soothing words in a way that reminds Emma of her childhood. She feels foolish crying like this. She is one and twenty, not a toddler afraid of the dark, but that thought only makes her cry harder. 

“I know it hurts. Love is rarely easy. That’s what makes it special,” her mother says, fingers stroking Emma’s hair. “Early on, your father and I were separated quite a bit, and every time we parted, I would worry. It gets better, though, easier with time. I promise.”

Emma tries to take her mother’s words to heart. The whole thing is just so confusing to her. She wants to talk to Killian about it, her conflicting emotions, her fears of her death, how members of the council seem to even be wishing for it. She begins dozens of letters, and plans to use her mother’s birds to send them, but the words don’t come easy and guilt consumes her when they do. She doesn’t want to worry him with her own trivial concerns. He is fighting for his life and the kingdom as she sits idly in her palace. It would be unfair of her to unload on him. Besides, in the letters she does receive from him, he sounds so hopeful and happy. She can’t take that away.

His letters are just as powerful and descriptive as before, but this time his words are laced with flirtation and innuendo, each letter beginning with “ _My dearest, Emma_ ” and closing with “ _to the best of women_.” He tells her how the golden rays of the sun’s early light simply cannot compare to the brightness of her hair – “ _a pale imitation of your beauty, my love.”_ He tells that he dreams of her smile, and muses that his brother’s ship must have been named after her, because truly she is the greatest treasure in this, or any realm. He tells her that he cannot wait to return to her, that nothing can stand between him and her – not even a war.

_“I hope you’ve realized by now that I am right about this whole war. It’s a terrible, terrible thing, but it’s brought me to you. You’re proof to this orphan that amidst darkness, there can be bright, brilliant light. You are my light, princess, the reason I keep fighting.”_

After she didn’t rebuke him for his original confession that he constantly thought of her, he initially followed it with a tease about the reason being that he needed to stay alive to prove her wrong, because he “does so loathe anyone considering him to be in the wrong.” His letters tell a different story, though, one that warms her heart and encourages her to face her own torment of inactivity. 

When her own doubts begin to overtake her, she thinks back on that one week that they shared together after the ball and before he returned to see. They had been so happy then, flirting and courting, taking long walks around the gardens and stealing kisses in shadowed corridors and empty rooms. They had talked then, not as princess and lieutenant, but as a young man and woman on the cusp of young love.  
  
It had been nice to talk to him face-to-face, to hear and not read his words. In person, he had been just as witty, _charming_ even, no matter how ardently he denied it – still denies it, even.  
  
“I’m not your father, love.”

And he isn’t. Killian Jones is his own man, but just as Snow White fell for the shepherd-turned-prince, Emma takes certain delight in the fact that she’s falling for someone of lowly birth, as well. There’s a certain poetry to it. Her parents found True Love in one another, and though she’s not ready to admit she and Killian are there quite yet, the thought grounds her.  
  
But rest assured, Emma is ready for two simple things: for the war to end, and for her to see her Lieutenant again. 

-/-  


The war ends.

A blockade followed by a siege is what convinces the opposing kingdom to surrender, unwilling to allow any more of its citizens to starve and bleed. It’s a nasty business, war, and on human level, Emma feels uncomfortable with just what had to be done to ensure victory and protect their kingdom. Treaties still need to be signed and drafted, of course, but those will come quickly.  
  
As princess, she’ll be joining her parents in the negotiations. A not small part of her is eager to flex her diplomatic skills, to learn the nuances of soft power after a hard fought battle. One day, she will be Queen and the responsibility will fall to her shoulders. She hopes that time is far away. She’s not quite ready for that duty, nor does she want to lose her parents ever. But, her ascending to the throne is an inevitably, so Emma must learn.

In her spare moments, Emma counts down until she can once again see Killian. The war’s end means he can return home, and when he returns home, their courtship can continue. Every now and then, she finds herself glancing down to her bare finger, and wonders how soon it will be adorned with a ring. She also wonders that if – _when_ – they become engaged, how Killian will fare by her side as a member of the royal family. He’ll be Prince Consort, of course, as he has no titles nor any land. Emma doubts he’ll mind.

She’s never been one to fantasize about weddings, but more often than not, she finds her thoughts drifting to balls and white dresses adorned with jewels, Killian dressed in Naval regalia. She daydreams of a marriage, of becoming a partnership, him and her. They compliment one another quite well and he certainly challenges her. Her mother always advised her to fall for someone who doesn’t allow you to be complacent, and that suits Emma just fine.

But then the worst happens, and Emma’s dreams go up in smoke.

News of the war, it seems, had not spread to everyone. An enemy vessel had seen a ship with Misthaven banners, and a skirmish had erupted. Her father tells her this gently, her mother by her side, and it’s then that Emma realizes that it hadn’t been any ship that was attacked, but the _Jewel of the Realm._  
  
Captain Liam Jones is dead, they tell her. There’s no word on Killian.

For as many tears as Emma had shed during their early separation, Emma cries little now. She is oddly resolute. In shock, some say, and maybe she is. But Emma knows she cannot allow herself to fall apart, not when Killian’s world has been upended.

Killian isn’t dead. That she refuses to believe. She would know, wouldn’t she? Her parents have that sort of bond, why shouldn’t she and Killian? They love one another, don’t they? So, no, he isn’t dead.

But Liam is. That she knows. And if Liam is dead, Killian needs her. His brother means everything to him. She can tell by the reverent way Killian had written about him in his letters. Emma had been hoping, perhaps naively, to someday meet that man that means so much to the man she loves. But, she’ll never get that chance. Killian will also never get the chance for everything he’d been dreaming of. It’s the beginning of a nightmare, and she knows not when she’ll wake.

It grows worse after the _Jewel_ is spotted heading toward port. She’d commanded that she be alerted when it was seen on the horizon, and she hurries down to the docks, her skirts swirling around her legs when a courier brings word. Her parents follow along, diligent in their care for her. They don’t speak it aloud, but they also believe Killian to be dead. But they’re wrong. They must be.  
  
They stand together as the Jewel comes closer. Surely, it’s an odd sight watching the royal family huddle so close together. It’s against normal protocol, surely, but Emma doesn’t care and neither do her parents. Killian means something to Emma, after all.  
  
After what feels like an eternity, she can finally make out then men on the Jewel. Most of them are strangers to her, but there are a few familiar faces she recognizes from the balls. The _Jewel,_ itself, appears worse from wear, but it’s sailing. That’s what matters. It’s seaworthy enough to bring these men home, and she prays to every god she can think that one of those men is Killian.  
  
Then, she sees him.  
  
Emma is unable to make him out particularly well, but she knows it is him, knows it deep down in her bones. She exhales deeply, and her father claps his hand over her shoulder when she does. He’s home. He’s safe.  
  
After what feels like an eternity, the ship is docked and the gangplank lowered. Emma watches as the sailors disembark. Her parents thank each one, and they look grateful. Hollow still, but the appear to appreciate the gesture. Rarely anyone gets greeted by the King and Queen this way. Emma ought to greet them, as well, but she’s too busy waiting on Killian. Then, realizing that she doesn’t actually have to wait, she rushes up the gangplank to the deck of the ship.  
  
“Where’s Killian?” Emma asks one of the remaining stragglers, and he indicates that Killian had gone down the Captain’s Quarters.  
  
It would be the height of impropriety to go down unattended, but Emma hardly cares at this point. She gathers her skirts and climbs down the ladder. If Killian notices, he doesn’t acknowledge her. Instead, he remains sitting a desk, quill scratching into a thick book. _A captain’s logbook_ , Emma thinks. 

“Killian?”

He looks up then, and Emma’s heart sinks. His expression is so broken, so sad. Dark circles are under his eyes, and his beard is thicker. She wants to run to him, to wrap her arms around him and tell him everything will be okay. But that would be a lie, so she remains standing by the ladder.

“Princess,” he greets, and there’s no warmth in his tone. She pretends it doesn’t hurt.

“Killian, I’m…” She stumbles over her words, unsure of what to say next. Everything that comes to mind sounds so small compared to his monumental loss. Knowing she needs to say something, she settles on the simplest phrase, even if it does make her feel stupid. “I’m so sorry about Liam.”

“You should be,” Killian says, and it’s as if he’s just slapped her. He stands from the desk, pushing outward with an excessive use of force. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to report to the Admiral regarding the mission and my brother’s death.”

Emma holds her ground, even as she feels like crying. This is not the reunion she imagined. Not anything close. “Killian, what are you saying?” 

“I’d rather not talk right now, Princess.” 

“Well, I’d rather, so we are,” she says. She moves in front of the ladder. He’d have to physically move her out of way to leave, something she doubts he’d do. “What did you mean, by I should be sorry?” 

“It was your war, wasn’t it? Liam wouldn’t have been dead if not for that,” he explains. He doesn’t look her in the eyes when he tells her this, but she can hear the bubbling rage beneath her words. 

“I didn’t ask for this war, and I certainly didn’t want him to die.” She doesn’t shrink away from him, even as her heart breaks. “Besides, he knew what he was getting into when he—“ 

“You don’t get to say what he knew or didn’t know!” Killian argues. He looks up to her then, and Emma can see the red rimming his eyes. She wants to reach out to him, but doesn’t.

“I suppose I don’t, but I also don’t think you need to be yelling at me like this,” she says quietly. “I didn’t want this, never.” 

“Then leave, Emma.” 

“I don’t want to leave you right now. You’re hurting.” This time she reaches out to him, but it is Killian’s turn to shrink away. 

“Go.” 

Tears in her eyes, she acquiesces to his request. She does not tell him she loves him, and thinks maybe, just maybe she had been right all those months ago when they’d first met.  
  
There is no light.

 

-/-

 

It’s been weeks since she last spoke to Killian. Her heart feels as if it’s been torn from her chest, and crushed in front of her. She’d cried after she’d left him. Her father had been out for Killian’s blood, but her mother must have talked him out of anything too drastic.

 

She misses him. He might have hurt her, but she misses him. What’s left of her heart longs for him. Despite his silence, she still wants to comfort him. Is this what love is like? It’s something she asked her mother.

 

“He shouldn’t have spoken to you that way, but grief can make even the best of us lose our minds,” her mother had told her, her words providing a small comfort. Her mother offers no assurances that Killian will come back around, a clear sign that she doesn’t expect him to.  
  
There have been many times over the past few weeks that Emma has considering taking that step and offering an olive branch. But then she reminds herself that she did nothing wrong in this. The war hadn’t been her choice. Liam joining the Navy hadn’t been her choice. An enemy ship attacking hadn’t been her choice. Nothing had been her fault in this.  
  
If Killian wants to speak to her, he will have to make the first move. Recalling his grief, Emma doubts he will. But just as he done so before, he proves her wrong yet again.

He visits her on a snowy day. White snow blankets the castle’s grounds, and cold envelops the land, similar to the day they first met. In fact, it’s almost the year anniversary of that day. Emma is sitting by a roaring fire, a quilt thrown over her legs, when he comes. She’d been trying her hand at needlepoint, and her fingers have been pricked more times than she can count, but she carries on. 

It is her mother who tells Emma he is here. “I can send him away if you’d like. Your father would surely prefer it, but this is your choice.” 

“Send him in.”

Her mother gives her one parting look, and then privacy. Her mother trusts her to do what’s best for her heart, and that is something Emma appreciates.

“Hello,” Killian greets when he enters the parlor. Emma doesn’t rise to greet him, but she sits her poor attempt at needlework aside.

Killian tries to approach her, but thinks better of it. Instead of talking, they sit in silence for a few moments. There have been so many words left unsaid between them. Emma thinks about how months ago, she’d longed for nothing more except a moment to be with him, however now she is afraid of having her heart crushed further. 

“Why are you here?” she asks, and she hates how brittle her voice sounds.

“I came to apologize. I behaved quite dishonorably the last time we talked,” Killian tells her. He moves closer to her, even if his movements resemble those of a skittish kitten. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.” 

“You shouldn’t have.” 

“I know. It doesn’t absolve me in any way, but I was hurting,” he explains. “Liam was,” he voice cracks, “he was all I had for the longest time, and I didn’t know how to act without him. Rest assured, had he been alive, he would have cuffed me for treating you like that.” 

“Had he been alive, I doubt you would have acted that way.”

“No, I wouldn’t have,” he admits. He looks away from her and toward the fire, shamefaced. “After you left, I immediately regretted what I said. I wanted to follow after you, and beg for your forgiveness, but I was a coward.”

“I would have given it to you,” Emma says immediately, and it’s true. She would have forgiven him, she would have welcomed him back into his arms.

“And now?” 

“You hurt me quite a bit.” 

“Aye.” Killian rakes his hand through his hair. It’s a bit longer than the day he had departed once again for the war, but nowhere near as long as it had been when they met. “Before all this, I had a plan, you know.”

“Oh?” She doesn’t mean to sound so interested, but she does. 

“I was going to ask your father for your hand. I’d already had a ring, and I had been practicing how I’d ask with Liam. He said I was abysmal, but your father would still be a fool to turn me down,” he explains. His eyes take a glassy quality as he speaks, and Emma knows her own eyes reflect the same. A tear rolls down her cheek, but she refrains from wiping it away.

“I would have liked that.”

“And now?”

“And now I think my father would definitely turn you down,” Emma says with a small laugh. It’s not a confirmation of her answer, because she truly doesn’t know how’d she respond. Her heart had swooped when he’d made his confession. It had been everything she’d wanted, but his previous silence still hurt her, far more than his words ever could.

“I’ve been thinking about the night we first met,” Killian tells her, changing the topic of their conversation. Emma leans toward him, but says nothing more in a silent encouragement for him to continue. “I was naïve then, talking to you of all those grandiose ideas of how meeting you was worth the war.”

“So you don’t believe it now?” She asks, unable to keep the hurt from her voice.

“Yes and no. I’d told you about how I’d lost brothers in arms, but it wasn’t a loss quite like…like Liam,” he says softly. “I wouldn’t have said anything of the sort to you had I lost him then.”

“Oh.”

“But at the same time, if I’d never met you, I probably would have drowned myself in the bottle,” he tells her. He reaches out to take her hand, and Emma does not pull it away. “Thinking of you kept my grief from completely consuming me. I stumbled, clearly, the day I was reunited with you. And these few weeks without you have been hell. But if you had never come into my life, if I had never fallen in love with you, I don’t think I could have survived it.”

“You’re stronger than you think.” 

“I’m not, not after how I behaved to you,” Killian tells her. “I know I don’t deserve it. I doubt I will, but I hope, someday, to find forgiveness.”

“Of course.”  
  
They don’t say anything after that. Emma squeezes his hand, and pulls Killian into a hug. In the comfort of her arms, he cries.

She doesn’t let go.

 

-/-

 

Killian proposes in the early spring, and they wed in the summer.

The heat is unbearable, but they solider through. Killian spins her around the ballroom for the first dance, and Emma laughs. The kingdom is in peace, and the happiness and frivolity does not feel misplaced. In fact, it feels deserved after everything they’ve been through.  
  
Liam’s presence is missed, but they find their ways to honor him. She commissions a painting based on a drawing Killian had made of Liam, and it hangs in one of the royal halls. Killian wears his brother’s sabre during the ceremony, and no one stands by his side by choice as they recite their vows. 

It’d taken some time for Killian to win her father over, but he had done so. It had taken numerous talks between the two men, and a personal conversation between Emma and and father, one where he’d asked her where he heart lay. She’d told him the truth – it was, and will forever be, with Killian Jones.

She might not have met him if not for the war. He wouldn’t have been without his brother if not for the war. The war had made their lives fuller and shattered them all the same. But in the end, they found the light amongst they darkness. They found one another. 

And they lived happily ever after.

 


End file.
